Page 3 of Miss Davis and the Spare (Dazzling Debutantes #3)

Chapter Two

“Females are purely ornamental. When you forget this truth, you will uncover the need to drown your sorrows in drink. Here, take a sip of my brandy. It will help you forget the silly chit.”

July 1802, the late Earl of Saunton to his son, Peregrine, on his seventh birthday after finding him climbing the trees of Saunton Park with the daughter of the stable master.

* * *

“B efore I forget, my brother wrote you a letter, Mrs. Davis.”

Perry drew the neatly folded missive from his breast pocket and handed it to Emma’s mother. From the corner of his eye, he caught Emma shifting in her chair, her hands clenching into restless fists in her lap. Ah. So the little minx is displeased with the earl.

He suppressed a smirk. It seemed rather churlish to resent a man who had gifted her family an entire estate—including the comfortable drawing room in which she now sat. Ungrateful chit.

Mrs. Davis carefully unfolded the letter and began reading, her expression thoughtful. By the time she reached the end, a small, satisfied smile curved her lips.

“Well … what does it say?” Emma’s caustic tone drew a sharp look from her mother.

“The earl extends his apologies for how he handled the matter of retrieving Ethan,” Mrs. Davis replied patiently. “He admits he is not well-versed in family affairs and that his new countess has pointed out his error in handling such a delicate situation with so little sensitivity. He realizes his actions caused some distress for Ethan—whom he is very fond of and impressed with—and he seeks our help in easing the boy’s transition.”

A barely audible growl came from Emma’s direction. Perry did not need to strain his ears to recognize the words Lord Arrogant muttered beneath her breath. He ignored it, though the temptation to laugh was considerable. Richard will be most amused by his new title when I inform him. In fact, I may take to calling him that myself.

Mrs. Davis turned back to Perry with a polite, measured expression. “I appreciate his lordship’s consideration and the thought he has put into this matter. However, I am afraid Emma has decided to remain here at Rose Ash. Perhaps she can compose a letter of advice for the earl, along with a letter for Ethan to reassure him?”

Perry had anticipated resistance from the moment he had laid eyes on Miss Emma Davis. She was, after all, a woman of strong opinions and little inclination to be swayed.

Which was why he had been observing her so carefully, not unlike a strategist preparing for a battle.

She might not care for fine gowns, grand ballrooms, or the lure of wealth and status, but there was something she valued beyond reason—family.

And so, with the confidence of a man who knew precisely how this game would end, Perry leaned back in his chair, waiting for the perfect moment to deliver the one argument she could not refuse.

“That is a pity, Mrs. Davis. I would have enjoyed escorting your daughters to see the wonders of our great city. And the modiste our family uses—her creations are sublime . Every young woman dreams of owning such gowns, of attending glittering balls and dancing the evening away in the arms of charming gentlemen.”

Perry paused for effect before adding smoothly, “My brother is exceedingly protective of his family. Only the most distinguished of gentlemen would be introduced to two such important ladies.”

As expected, Jane leaned forward in excitement. “Ladies?”

Perry feigned an expression of innocent surprise as he turned to look at Jane. “Did I fail to mention that the invitation was for both of you?”

Jane inhaled sharply, her face alight with excitement. She turned to Emma, clasping her hands together. “Emma! This is so exciting! A Season in London! I have always dreamed of waltzing in a grand ballroom. Please, we must go!”

From his right, Perry felt Emma’s heated glare, burning with barely restrained fury.

She knew. She knew she was caught, that the trap had been laid too carefully, too thoroughly. He could almost see her mind working, scrambling for an escape route. But there was none. He had measured her correctly—she might resist for herself, but she would not deny her sister something she so clearly longed for.

“Jane,” Emma began, her voice tinged with desperation, “I am sure we can request the waltz be included at the next local assembly?—”

But Jane was already lost to the vision Perry had painted for her.

Time to deliver the final blow.

“Not to mention how disappointed the Duchess of Halmesbury will be when she learns she will not be sponsoring you both,” he added casually, sipping his tea. “She was quite looking forward to it.”

Or she would be—just as soon as she was informed.

“A duchess!” Jane nearly squealed, her excitement spilling over as she jumped to her feet. “Mama, where did we put the trunks? Perhaps I should start packing before dinner!”

Emma sputtered in protest, but Jane did not hear a word of it.

“Oh! Should I take my fashion plates? No—of course not! London will have far newer designs than the ones I have collected!”

With that, she clapped her hands together and rushed from the room, leaving Emma, Perry, and Mrs. Davis behind in bemused silence.

Emma shot Perry a murderous scowl, her hands clenching as if she were contemplating whether she could get away with throttling him. Swallowing a smile, Perry ignored her and turned to Mrs. Davis, who, to his great amusement, appeared to be holding back her own smile.

“Well played, Mr. Balfour,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement. “It would seem my eldest daughters will leave with you in the morning—provided my husband agrees. Would you care to stay for dinner?”

A moan of protest erupted from his right. “Mama!”

Mrs. Davis turned to Emma with a placatory expression. “Admit when you have been outwitted, my dear. My advice is … do not play chess with this gentleman. His talent for strategy surpasses your own, young lady.” Then, her tone softened. “Or would you rather be the one to stand in the way of your sister—your closest friend in the world—embarking on the adventure of her dreams?”

Emma turned her glare on Perry, dark fire smoldering in her black eyes. “Jane was not included in the invitation—admit it!”

Perry let a slow, condescending grin spread across his lips. “I do not know of what you speak. Lord Saunton was quite explicit that your sister should accompany you under the same terms I put forward.”

Her head whipped back to her mother. “Mama, I do not wish to go. Speak to Jane—make her see reason!”

Mrs. Davis gave a polite but firm frown. “Attempt to stand between Jane and a new wardrobe fit for the peerage? I would not dare . It is out of my hands, I am afraid.”

“Then she can go alone!” Emma declared desperately.

The cheerful mother suddenly grew stern. “Absolutely not. You are to ensure nothing happens to Jane. You are the responsible one, Emma. I expect you to look after your sister and see that no harm befalls her. She has only just turned eighteen—she does not understand the ways of the world as you do.”

“But … but … I am not that much older than her!”

“You are more—” Mrs. Davis hesitated, searching for the right word while Perry watched, highly entertained. “—mistrustful .” Perry nearly choked, forcing his laughter back at the appropriateness of her selection. “Besides, this visit will be good for you. You spend far too much time buried in your books and toiling in the garden. It is time to experience the world.”

Emma’s lips parted, as if she had a retort ready, but then her thoughts played out across her face—resistance, frustration, reluctant understanding—until, with a dramatic slump of her shoulders, she surrendered. “Yes, Mama.”

Perry had never been more entertained in his life.

He had succeeded in his mission, and the fact that he had just neatly doubled the planned expenses on behalf of his soon-to-be-very-vexed brother only sweetened the feeling of victory.

Timing his final move perfectly, he leaned forward, meeting Emma’s livid gaze with a triumphant one of his own—well aware he was provoking her—before turning to smile at Mrs. Davis.

“And I would love to stay for dinner, Mrs. Davis.”

* * *

Perry perused the books in the manor’s modest library while he awaited the descent of the large Davis family for dinner. In keeping with the style of the drawing room, the space was attractively furnished, the shelves well stocked with leather-bound volumes that suggested both refinement and curiosity.

The family had good taste.

Except, perhaps, for the eldest daughter.

Emma Davis had an unerring ability to dress in the most unflattering colors and styles, more akin to a governess than a young lady of the gentry. It did not appear to be for lack of funds—the younger sister was well turned out in dresses only a few months out of fashion, likely sewn from patterns copied from long-traveled fashion plates. Perhaps she was adept with a needle?

And yet, despite her regrettable wardrobe, Perry still could not quite shake the memory of Emma’s— ahem —impressive figure from his thoughts. The boyish young woman had some pronounced curves trapped within her ill-fitting bodice to fascinate even the most tepid of gentlemen.

Most inconvenient.

Clearly, he needed to return to London and visit one of his agreeable widows before his mind wandered further down this absurd path.

Behind him, light footsteps announced an approaching presence. Seconds later, the library door thudded shut.

His lips quirked. Ah. A confrontation. And a private one at that.

Taking his time—because he knew it would aggravate her—Perry slowly turned, letting a sardonic smile stretch across his face.

“Miss Davis, what a pleasure to see you.”

Emma stood just inside the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“I made it clear I did not wish to journey to London with you, and yet you deliberately maneuvered me into it.”

She had at least taken the effort to clean up. A fresh gown replaced the garden-stained muslin, and her hair had been vaguely styled. She appeared fractionally less wild than at their first encounter.

But not by much.

The gown itself was tragically outdated—likely fifteen years old, its voluminous fabric billowing around her slight frame and buttoned primly up to her chin. As for her hair … the thick cloud of dark curls looked as though it had been piled atop her head in a battle she had barely won.

Perry resisted the urge to sigh.

Richard had better not get any notions about Perry having a hand in refining the little hoyden beyond delivering her to Balfour Terrace. Polishing Miss Davis into a lady fit for society would be nothing short of a herculean task.

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Miss Davis, your mother believes this trip will be good for you. Do you not wish to meet eligible young men?”

“What is the point?”

Perry frowned. “All young women wish to marry, do they not?”

Emma snorted. “Let us be honest—none of the young gentlemen of London will have any interest in courting me . ”

Perry’s brow furrowed. Well, that was unexpected.

For all her fire and defiance, Emma Davis lacked confidence.

To his great irritation, a peculiar sensation—something uncomfortably close to concern—settled in his chest.

“Emma,” he said, his voice steady, “the earl will ensure you are ready. He will purchase you the finest gowns, provide you with a lady’s maid, and arrange tutoring in anything you need to master. My brother will take care of you.”

She did not respond immediately. Instead, she studied him, her dark eyes searching his face as if she were looking for the catch.

For the first time since he had arrived in Somerset, Perry found himself wishing he had chosen his words more carefully.

“Do you not understand? It will not be enough.” Emma’s voice rose with uncharacteristic urgency. “I am happy with my life. When I step into society, I feel unkempt, ridiculous. People see me as a child. A poorly dressed one. Then I open my mouth, and I see their discomfort—their need to get away from me. And then there is you”—she flapped a hand in his general direction—“the very pink of the beau monde. Flawless in your attire, perfect in your etiquette. You and your priggish friends will make sport of me—the silly country mouse who does not know a pleat from a … a …”

She gestured wildly at her own gown, struggling for words.

It was painfully obvious that she was wholly illiterate in matters of fashion.

“ Gros de Naples? ” Perry supplied smoothly.

Emma froze, staring at him with her mouth slightly agape. “Is that a real thing?”

He shrugged. “I suppose you will find out when you visit my brother’s favorite modiste.”

Her expression darkened. “Do not mock me. I asked you a direct question! And why would your brother have a favorite modiste?”

Perry felt a flicker of shame. Well done, idiot. That was hardly an appropriate subject for an innocent young miss—even if she was a little wild.

Clearing his throat, he drew a steady breath. “I misspoke. Formerly his favorite modiste. It is now frequented by the new countess and her cousin.”

Emma eyed him, suspicion lingering. “I see. So it is true the earl has reformed?”

“He has.”

“It is most indiscreet of you to inform me of such matters.”

Perry stretched his neck unobtrusively, attempting to relieve the discomfort creeping up his spine. “My brother’s … affairs … are well known. As is his recent marriage and reformation. His regard for the countess is infamo — ” He barely caught himself. “I mean … famous . ”

Emma tilted her head, considering this. “He married her for love ? ”

Perry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “He did.”

“He must have changed drastically since the time our cousin, Kitty, knew him, then.” Her tone was rhetorical, so Perry remained silent.

Emma exhaled, some of her earlier fire dimming. “As to your friends, I shall allow no one to snub you, Miss Davis,” he said, his voice steady. “This truly is about helping Ethan adjust to his new home. My brother and the countess are earnest in their desire to take care of your young cousin.”

She met his gaze then, and something in her dark eyes unsettled him. There was a depth to them, a piercing intelligence that set his nerves on edge. She was studying him, as though peering past the carefully constructed facade he presented to the world.

He had no wish for her to see the darkness that resided there.

Emma nodded slowly. “So, we shall call a truce, then?”

Perry smirked. “Hmm … I do not know about that, Miss Davis. You are such a delight to tease, and it is a long journey back to London.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits of pure animosity. “Pretentious buck!”

“Now, now,” he tutted. “Name-calling will not get you far in the drawing rooms of the ton. You will need to learn subtler methods to put your foes down if you wish to succeed.”

A ghastly smile—one of restrained, murderous politeness—curved across her lips as she sank into a curtsy so deep it was nearly mocking.

“Mr. Balfour, you are an astute man. I am sure you know precisely what you can do with your subtler methods. ”

With that, she strode past him, chin lifted high.

Perry bit back a laugh.

“Much better, Miss Davis. Much better,” he called after her in an encouraging tone, as if speaking to a young child.

The only indication that she had heard him was the sharp, guttural sound of frustration just before she slammed the library door behind her.

* * *

Emma stood in the stable yard of Rose Ash Manor, tugging her thick carriage dress closer against the early morning chill. The soft pink and gray of first light dappled the sky, casting a muted glow over the assembled carriages.

Two carriages.

Two!

What extravagance!

Breathing into her freezing hands to warm them, she watched as the footmen secured her and Jane’s trunks to the roofs of the earl’s splendid vehicles. She had already met the countess’s French lady’s maid and Mr. Balfour’s valet— I cannot believe he has brought an actual valet along to collect two country lasses from Somerset! —and the presence of the maid only confirmed her suspicions.

Jane had not been part of the earl’s original invitation.

No, Mr. Arrogant had extended the offer to maneuver Emma into accepting against her will. Why else would a female servant have been sent, if not to act as a chaperone on the return journey?

Turning, she found Mr. Arrog—Balfour eyeing her with an expression of unvarnished horror.

“What?” she snapped, scowling at him.

“I have never seen anyone dress in that particular shade of … mud.”

Emma gritted her teeth. “It is very serviceable. And nothing ruins a gown like a long, dusty carriage journey.”

“Serviceable?” He repeated the word as if he had never heard it before in his life.

“It is rude to comment on my attire in a derogatory manner.”

He shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “It is rude to comment on rude behavior.”

Her blood boiled. Please, Lord, grant us fair weather so that we may reach London with all due haste!

If the skies remained clear, the journey would take two days. If it rained … heaven help her, she could be trapped in a carriage with him for nearly a week. In that much time, she would either throttle him or fling herself under the wheels just to be rid of him.

“It is simply that your sister looks so fetching in blue velvet, and with your coloring so similar, you would surely?—”

“Mr. Balfour!” she snapped. “Is this how society behaves? Comparing one sister to another—to her face?”

He rolled his eyes. “As you wish. Clearly, the decision to wear a gown in the precise shade of damp earth is your prerogative. Far be it from me to interfere with such a … bold choice.”

The innocent smile he flashed her only deepened her ire.

Yes, Jane looked lovely. Jane always looked lovely.

Did this idle dandy think she did not know that?

Emma had attempted to wear the same colors, the same styles, only to find they did not suit her at all. Jane was tall and elegant; Emma was … realistic about her short, boyish frame.

There were no illusions that she would attract a gentleman of the ton.

Since Ethan had left, she had longed for a child of her own. But to have a child, she would need to find a husband.

And what man would look twice at her?

The notion was laughable—and it was insufferably vulgar for Mr. Balfour to discuss her failings so openly. The best she could hope for was a respectable match with an honest tradesman, someone who would not mind marrying into the gentry.

Someone who would not sneer at serviceable gowns.

At last, the trunks were secured, and the footmen began assisting the passengers into their respective carriages. Jane climbed in first, disappearing with a flash of blue skirts into the plush interior. The footman then turned to Emma, who accepted his assistance, carefully lifting her mud-colored skirts as she ascended.

Once inside, she took in her surroundings with quiet disbelief. The leather squabs were butter-soft, the thick rug beneath her feet plush enough to sink into.

She had barely settled into her seat when movement at the door caught her eye. Emma squeaked in alarm.

“Are you traveling with us?”

Mr. Arrog—Balfour—ascended the carriage steps, wholly unconcerned by her distress.

“I assumed you would ride …. or … or … travel with the servants!”

He settled into the seat directly across from her with an insufferable smirk. “Nay, Miss Davis. As I stated, the journey is long, and you are entertaining. So I shall sit here and watch you.”

“Mock me, you mean?”

He shrugged. “We shall see where the day takes us, shall we?”

Emma scowled at him before pointedly turning away to stare out the window.

Lifting a hand, she waved to her family gathered outside, their figures growing smaller with each passing second. Her round, cheerful mother, her swarthy father, her three brothers—and little Maddie, the youngest, who bounced excitedly on her toes. They all waved enthusiastically, their expressions full of encouragement, but within moments, the carriage took a turn in the winding drive of Rose Ash Manor, and they were gone.

The sun had barely risen, and already she was on her way to London for a Season .

She could scarcely believe it.

She had tossed and turned the entire night, her stomach twisted with trepidation. She knew—knew—she would be a colossal failure. But if Jane found a suitable young gentleman, and Emma spent time with Ethan, it would all be worth it.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself. Over and over.

The carriage turned onto the main road, the turnpike that would lead them out of Rose Ash. Emma’s heart sank into her shoes as she imagined her arrival at the Earl of Saunton’s grand townhouse.

With a heavy sigh, she reached up to untie her bonnet—just as Jane did the same. They caught each other’s gaze and giggled at the synchrony before setting their bonnets aside on the seat next to Mr. Arro—Balfour .

Zooks, Emma, you must learn to call him by his name before you accidentally address the earl himself as Lord Arrogant.

Jane rummaged through the basket she had brought along, producing her embroidery frame. As she lifted it onto her lap, Emma saw the beginnings of a perfect rose, surrounded by curling vines and a tree in the distance.

Their new home.

Emma sighed. Trust Jane to commemorate Rose Ash Manor in delicate stitches. She had always envied her sister’s talent. Her own fingers, utterly hopeless at needlework, had long ago resigned themselves to more practical pursuits.

Resigned, she leaned down and pulled a book from her own basket, settling back into the plush squabs to find her page.

Across from her, a groan of disapproval sounded.

She looked up, narrowing her eyes.

Mr. Arrogant was staring at the cover of her book as if it personally offended him.

“You cannot be serious,” he said flatly. “A text on animal husbandry—on the road to London? Are you expecting to find herds of sheep wandering through Mayfair?”

Emma scoffed. “We both know Jane is the one who will find a wonderful gentleman, at which time I will return to Rose Ash and resume my familial duties . Running an estate requires a vast store of knowledge, and as we had little cattle in Derbyshire, I am expanding my understanding. We now have more livestock, so I intend to see that the estate prospers. There is a fortune to be made in supplying wool to the local textile industry.”

Mr. Arrogant— no, Balfour— swiped a hand over his face in evident dismay before rubbing the back of his neck.

“Have you ever considered,” he asked dryly, “that your … challenges with men might stem from your decidedly unladylike pursuits?”

Emma stiffened. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jane’s fingers still on her embroidery frame. Then, with practiced ease, her sister carefully rolled up her work, retrieved a shawl from her basket, and folded it into a makeshift pillow. Without so much as a glance in their direction, Jane leaned back into the corner of the carriage, propped up her head, and within moments …

A soft, ladylike snore.

Emma clenched her teeth. Of course.

Jane had always possessed the enviable ability to sleep whenever and wherever she wished. But Emma knew her sister better than that—Jane had no desire to overhear this conversation. And so, with what could only be described as expert skill, she had exited it entirely, leaving Emma alone with him .

Lifting a hand to smooth her curls, Emma caught the flicker of disdain that crossed Balfour’s face.

Her fingers stilled.

Her hair was frowsy. Again.

She could not help it. Jane’s hair was sleek, impossibly silky, while Emma’s was a wild mass of rebellious curls. They were both dark, but it seemed insolent to compare her unruly mane to Jane’s perfectly arranged tresses.

Egads!

The differences between herself and her sister had never truly troubled her before. But since meeting Peregrine Balfour, she had become uncomfortably aware of them. Seeing herself through the eyes of a polished buck—one of many she would encounter in London—had given her an unwelcome taste of what was to come.

Jane, I hope you appreciate what I am doing for you. Because every single moment of this journey will be excruciating.

Shaking her head, she looked back at her book, determined to ignore the obnoxious nobleman until they reached the inn for lunch and a change of horses.

Across from her, Mr. Peregrine Balfour smirked, stretching his long legs comfortably before him.

No man had ever infuriated her as much as this one.

And before this journey was over, she might actually do him an injury.